Chapter Thirty-Six Caught in the Act of. What?

A half-hour later

Hidden behind that morning's issue of The Times, Philip was unaware of who stood on the breakfast parlor's threshold until she said, "Good morning, my love."

The newspaper dropped so quickly, it nearly took his plate with it. "Amelia," he said, quickly coming to his feet. He was about to ask what had her appearing at Fenwick House so early in the day when his father escorted the Duchess of Weston into the room.

"I've invited the entire family to join us for breakfast," Michael said as he held a chair for Helena.

"Future family, he means," Helena said as Philip saw to a chair for Amelia. A footman was quick to bring tea and coffee.

"I haven't yet seen Violet this morning," Philip murmured, his attention going to the door. "Does the entire future family include Weston?"

"It does, but I need to run upstairs and extend the invitation personally," his father said. He bent and kissed the duchess on her cheek before he headed for the door.

"Wait for me," she said, her skirts whirling about as she stood to follow him. "I'm going with you."

The two disappeared from the room as quickly as they had appeared.

Philip blinked, his gaze finally turning to Amelia. "What was that all about?"

She tittered, bursting with excitement over what she had been told in the coach on the way to the house. "My brother. He is miserable because he's in love with Violet, but he took exception to her being your sister, you see, and he thinks she deliberately withheld the information from him, but he didn't realize that if he had known she was related to you, he might not have had the opportunity to meet her, and therefore, he wouldn't have fallen in love with her."

Philip blinked again. "Oh." His brows furrowed. "Weston is upstairs?"

Amelia inhaled to answer and then scoffed. "Well, he had better be," she said, stirring a lump of sugar into her tea. "His horse is tied up to your fence out front."

It was Philip's turn to scoff. "I've been down here for nearly an hour. When—?"

"The middle of the night," she said in delight. "And the fact that he's here means Violet didn't send him away. Which means they have spent half the night together. Probably in the same bed. Isn't that wonderful?"

Not quite sure he agreed with her assessment, Philip suddenly wished he had joined his father and the duchess. By now, they would have made it to the second floor and were about to discover if indeed his sister was in bed with Weston. "I suppose," he finally responded.

"This means we have a few minutes alone, if you'd like to have your way with me."

Philip was up and out of his chair in an instant, moving to pull her up and out of her chair. "God, I'm going to love being married to you," he said before he kissed her quite thoroughly.

"You're not going to do anything to harm him, I hope," Helena said as she and Michael climbed the stairs.

"Of course not," he replied. "He's going to be my stepson at the very least."

"And your son-in-law," she reminded him. "So… just a tongue lashing then?"

Michael paused at the top of the stairs and regarded her with a curious expression. "Why?"

She scoffed. "Well, surely he deserves to be scolded," she insisted.

"You're welcome to do that if you think it's necessary," he replied. When he noticed her troubled expression, he paused. "What is it?"

"Is it even legal?" she asked. "For your son to marry my daughter and my son to marry your daughter means…they'll be brothers and sisters."

Michael's brows drew together. "It's true. It wouldn't be legal for in-laws to be marrying in-laws," he whispered. "So if this is going to work, they both have to marry at the same time."

Helena's eyes widened. "Oh," she murmured. "I suppose that can be arranged," she added, struggling to keep up with him when he resumed his trek to Violet's bedchamber. She nearly collided with him when he stopped in front of the door and she huffed. "If you're not going to hit him, or call him out, then why are we even up here?"

"So he can ask my permission to marry my daughter," he replied. "I wasn't here at the house when he arrived, remember?"

He was about to knock, but her hand intercepted his fist. "What if they're…?" Her eyes rounded, as if she was trying to hint at something. "Playing at being married?"

"They won't be," he stated. "I raised my daughter better than that."

Helena blinked, a look of guilt crossing her face. "Although I'd like to believe I raised my son better than that… I'm not really sure if he would be the perfect gentleman in a situation like this," she whispered hoarsely.

He gave her a quelling glance and was once again about to knock on the door when it suddenly opened.

"Hello, Your Grace, Hello, Father," Violet said in a quiet voice. She was dressed in a bright jonquil day gown, her hair already done up in a bun atop her head.

"'Morning. Is Weston with you?" Michael asked.

Violet backed up enough so her visitors could see the bed. Alfred, snoring softly, was sound asleep. "He showed up at three o'clock this morning. Put voice to all sorts of explanations. Apologized profusely, and…" She shrugged. "Well, he fell asleep." She turned to the duchess. "I cannot decide if I should be happy or vexed."

"Happy, darling. Trust me on this," Helena whispered.

"Did he by chance propose marriage before he passed out?" Michael asked in a whisper.

"He mentioned he had forgotten to do so before he fell asleep, which has me thinking—"

"I will be doing so this morning," Alfred said in a groggy voice. "After I ask Lord Fenwick for his permission, of course." He sat up, his eyes widening at seeing who was at the door. "Mother? Lord Fenwick?"

"Alfred James Alexander George Sheppard," Helena said, her fists going to her hips.

"Oh, dear. I'm apparently in lots of trouble, my love," he murmured, his gaze going to Violet.

She giggled. "However could you tell?"

"My mother only addresses me with all my names when I am," he said, his attention still on Violet. "By the way, you look especially lovely this morning. Yellow is a good color on you."

"Thank you, Fred," she whispered, moving to kiss him on the head. "As much as I know you require more sleep, I think it best we get you dressed now. I do believe we're to join them downstairs for breakfast."

He reached up and kissed her. "Oh, if we must. Will you tie my cravat, my love?"

"I will," she assured him.

"Good God. They're already acting as if they're an old married couple," Michael said in a whisper only meant for Helena. From the glare Violet sent in his direction, he knew she had overheard him.

"That's because they are in love," Helena whispered. Her eyes rounded when the duke moved to get out of the bed, and she quickly turned away. While she hid her face with a hand pressed to the side of her face, Michael chuckled. "It's all right, my sweet. He's fully clothed," he said, as Alfred's stocking'd feet and pantaloon-covered legs appeared from beneath the bed linens. His shirt, although slightly rumpled, was open at the neckline to reveal a dusting of dark hair.

"He is?" Helena turned to stare as Violet expertly wrapped his cravat around his neck several times, evening the pleats as she did so. Then she tied the ends into a perfect mail coach knot. "I take it she used to do yours?"

"She did," Michael acknowledged. "When Thaddeus was unavailable. She can also fasten buttons faster than he can," he added, watching as Violet did so with the duke's waistcoat and top coat.

"Did she shave you, too?"

"Oh, God, no," Michael replied.

Helena tittered as she turned her attention back on her son. "How much did you have to grovel to convince this poor girl you were in love with her?"

Alfred turned his attention on his mother. "Not as much as I should have had to," he replied. His gaze went to Violet. "Which is how I knew she loved me."

Violet tittered. "You were barely coherent, so I thought it best I give you the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise, you wouldn't still be here," she said, running a comb through his spiked hair until he was presentable. "Depressed duke discovered sound asleep on horseback, wandering the streets of Mayfair," she teased.

He chuckled. "Thank you, my love."

"You're welcome."

Michael wrapped an arm around Helena's waist and pulled her closer. "Should I give him my permission?" he asked.

Her eyes widening in delight, Helena said, "You had better." She suddenly sobered.

"What is it?" he asked.

"We left Amelia and Philip alone in the breakfast parlor," she said with worry.

Michael displayed a look of offense. "I raised my son to know better than to take advantage of a situation," he claimed. "Surely you raised your daughter the same?"

Her gaze darting to the side, Helena merely gave him a look of guilt.

The two headed down the stairs as fast as they could.